Solus Non Sum
by thedreamclubmurders
Summary: 'I am coming.'... Sebastian kept his promise. Though, as the Seelie Queen once told Clary, when things go missing they are not quite the same upon their return... Clace, Sebastian/OC, Alec/Magnus, Alec/OC, Simobelle, implied Jace/OC
1. Strange Landscape

(( Disclaimer: The entire universe of The Mortal Instruments series, as well as the characters that come from it, belong entirely to Cassandra Clare. The only things that belong to me are the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I add into the Mortal Instruments universe. Thanks for reading, and please do **review! **Feedback is very important to me. :3 ))

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,  
But in ourselves, that we are underlings."  
- Julius Caesar (I, ii, 140-141)

The past couple of days had been, oddly, so glorious in Clary's mind that she wondered if it took great peril nowadays for her to feel happiness. It was only half a week ago that Sebastian's ichor-drenched portent staked itself to the floor of the Institute—only half a week since a clear threat of war had been dropped at their door. And, yet, Clary had spent every passing minute since then with the Jace she had missed for so long.

Though she had never given up hope that Jace would return to his true self, there had been some part of her that had grown exhausted of the wait, and in that exhaustion Clary had made room for small pockets of doubt. Now that she and Jace were together, uninterrupted by demonic forces or possession or mind games, it seemed perfect enough to be suspicious. Every few minutes she found herself staring at Jace, without words to accompany the intensity of her gaze. He seemed to understand, for he never looked away and he never asked for a morsel of sound to fill the space between them.

It was a painful sort of happiness, but it was breath-taking enough to numb the fear that stirred in her gut over Sebastian's ominous warning and the danger rapidly moving towards them.

After the sixth night, Clary finally found herself alone for a moment. Jace had gone to shower, and for once she did not sit in the bathroom with him. It had become a habit, one he had yet to object to, but tonight she had the sudden urge to draw. There was a burning image on her eyelids that begged to be unburdened from her imagination, and put to paper for relief.

She curled herself up on the stone floor, sketchpad in hand, and crouched over the smooth blank paper. Her eyes darkened as she narrowed her gaze. The image flooded her vision again, and without thinking her wrist began to move. The pencil was seamlessly delivering her wishes, in a way that almost made Clary wonder if the pencil itself was bewitched. She hadn't felt this in tune with the heart of a drawing since perhaps even before discovering anything about Shadowhunters or Downworlders, or Valentine.

**Valentine**. _Sebastian_.

Her wrist suddenly stopped. Clary focused her eyes and realized that her sketchpad had slipped from her grip. What lay in front of her now was a mostly blank piece of paper, with the exception of a small, shaded drawing in the lower right corner. Leaning in, cautious but blooming with curiosity, she scrutinized the image. The only times her fingers produced art on their own accord were to create runes. As Clary got closer, she could tell this drawing was not a rune at all.

It was nothing like a rune, in fact, or anything she had ever seen before.

"Did I draw that?" She found herself wondering aloud. It was the shadowed image of a young man with a dark jacket standing on a balcony. His hand gripped the rail, and just over his shoulder—the one turned away from the page—there lay another hand, slender and more angular than his. Clary lifted the sketchpad onto her lap, and let her back rest against the stone wall behind her, pulling her knees up to support the paper as she ran her fingers over it slowly.

As she traced its contours she could feel something grainy and rough bubbling underneath. Each time she ghosted over it again the drawing would jut out of the paper more, until finally it became a raised statue, almost like a wooden carving one might buy at a mundane carnival.

Clary hovered her hand over it, her breath shallow but even. After all this time, strange things did little to shake her. In fact, she felt a certain trust towards the supernatural. Everything that had power had the potential to be used for good. Whatever 'good' is. Were she and Jace good?

"Clary stop it," she chided herself aloud again. How could she be thinking of her relationship right now? Certainly there was something more important going on in front of her. Clary felt a sudden pang of disappointment. When had she become like this?

The fear of losing the Jace—the _real_ Jace—had affected her more than she would ever admit to, but it did cause side effects that were impossible to cover up. Her constant need to be around him, the way her soul felt dry if he was not at least touching her in some manner, like his hands were the steady streams of life and her body would go limp without their nourishment. Now that they were together again, her brain was feeding on the high of their love, and it was clouding her judgment.

Clary brought her hand slowly down on the raised drawing, noticing that it had grown quite hot since forming a mere minute ago. In fact, it was so hot that when her palm came into contact with it Clary could not help but scream in pain.

The young man's hand—the one that had been gripping the railing—seemed to suddenly reach out from its statuesque position and expand until it was thick enough to grab hold of Clary's wrist and pull her downward.

She tried to scream again, this time for help, but before the sound could pass through her lips the hand had dragged her into the hot, distended image, and there was only a soft gush of wind left in her place. The stone hallway was empty, save for the sketchpad, slouching against the wall as if it mourned for the loss of its owner.

Footsteps came barreling down, their echoes reaching before the bodies they belonged to.

"Clary!"


	2. The Painted Night

(( **Disclaimer:** Again, I do not own the universe of the Mortal Instruments, nor do I own any characters that come from this universe. The creator, Cassandra Clare, owns all those things. All I own is the story line, the writing itself, and any original characters I add to the Mortal Instruments universe. Also, to address the 4 awesome reviews I have gotten so far—thank you so so so much! You have no idea how much your interest and enthusiasm for this story means to me. To answer one of the questions, this will definitely be a Clace fic, but Sebastian will not be without a love interest. It's sort of complicated. Stay tuned. ))

"God has given you one face,  
and you make yourselves another."

- Hamlet (III, i, 142-143)

Clary could feel herself shrinking, becoming as small as a pencil stroke. Her organs drew themselves in like a hurricane, and her skin snapped into near nothingness, much like the recoil of a rubber band. It was unbearably painful, and then suddenly she filled back up and the atmosphere around her changed. She was outside. It was raining.

She looked down and saw that one of her hands was clutching the rusted pipe of a railing, stretching along the tiny balcony she began to notice surrounded her. Her hand was holding on so tight that it had become the color of milk, and when Clary tried to move it she found it would not budge.

Using her other hand to grab a hold of her stiff wrist, she pulled at it and shook it and even pushed down on it to illicit some sort of movement from the joint, but it stayed clamped to the damp railing. Clary could feel her chest battling against the wild heartbeat it contained; the same peculiar sensation that had recently started taking over her during battles reared its humming presence. Her adrenaline was making its way through her body, focusing her confusion into energy.

She tried one more time to pull her hand away, attempting to uncoil the fingers first one by one. There was no movement. She tried again, a look of desperation brewing in her green eyes, but there was still no movement.

Her frustration prompted a slew of rasping slurs. She tried to focus again. The rain around her slowed to individual, thundering drops. Clary felt her muscles surge with new life, and she suddenly knew exactly what to do. Her free hand fumbled for the under part of the railing. There was a small metal hook just beneath her palm that connected the railing to the balcony. She wrapped her slippery fingers around the metal piece and pulled as hard as she could. The metal appendage snapped, going limp. She was surprised at her own strength.

Suddenly, a sound interrupted her, and Clary whipped her head around to see where the rumble had come from.

The balcony, though exposed to the night sky and the downpour, was still attached to a larger, brick building that continued up much farther than Clary had first noticed. The sound had come from above her, and as she adjusted her green eyes to the droplets that clung to her eyelashes, blurring her vision while she craned her neck upwards, Clary spotted the dexterous shape of a body scaling down the building.

The person must have been wearing entirely black fabric, like a dull shimmering skin that fought against the rain as it fell. Clary held her breath, aware of both her hand that was still stuck to the railing and the free one that held the metal hook she had broken just moments earlier. Gripping it steadily in her palm, Clary widened her stance and braced herself for the moment this person noticed her. She curled her fingers over the cold metal, feeling to make sure the jagged end faced forward.

The figure grappled its way downward, almost moving like a spider as it swayed about, all legs and arms and quickness. Clary could see the bulge of hair—a ponytail perhaps—following the silhouette as it descended.

Then, with the sudden boom of footsteps that were once quiet now unafraid to make an entrance, the figure dropped down onto the balcony and straightened. Clary could tell clearly now that it was a girl, around her same age, and slightly taller.

For a moment she felt as vulnerable as the first time she'd seen Jace inside Pandemonium, threateningly holding a dagger to the neck of a boy with blue hair—the first demon she had ever knowingly seen. Clary pulled her free arm back, running her thumb over the broken edge of the metal piece in her hand. Any moment now, she would be noticed.

And, yet, as the rain fell all around and the sky opened itself wide, exposing veins of lightning and a forest lurking below, the shadowy figure did not stop to acknowledge Clary. They were standing so close to each other that Clary was sure the young woman could see her. Yet, the silhouette simply crouched just by Clary's feet, and took something out of a pocket Clary did not realize she had. The small, illuminating light of a cell phone screen pierced the darkness surrounding them.

Clary took a step back, trying again to pry her hand free of the balcony as she watched the crouched girl surreptitiously.

"This is a complete waste of my time. There's nothing here." The girl's voice was low, the kind of mundane voice that could have sounded like a violin if it sang. A pause followed. Then, "I understand that, I'm not entirely stupid. I may not be one of you _Nephilim_, but I've spent quite a bit of time finding other ways to be superhuman." She laughed at this, and Clary saw the slightly tan blur of a hand moving up to push hair away from the face.

Lightning speared the sky once more. Now Clary could see the deep brown of the girl's eyes, and the slope of her cheekbones. Her nose seemed to change upon shadows. It was straight, and yet as she turned to the side the angles of the bone underneath opened up. Clary was suddenly reminded of a painting her mother once spent days trying to complete.

It was of a young woman in heavy clothing, fiddling with the fabric as it bunched up by her feet. Her lashes were long and dark on their own, and her mouth sat in this peculiar way that made Clary feel like the very painting itself bored its subject. Jocelyn had still captured the rare quality of the young woman—a face that was both painfully pretty and hideous with feeling.

As lightning exploded around them once more, Clary realized that the young woman in the painting was exactly the same young woman who stood before her, shutting the cell phone in her hand with a smirk and standing up to peer over the railing.

Clary held her breath. The cell phone rang.

"Yes?" The young woman answered in the same low, rich tone as before. Clary almost felt sleepy as she heard it a second time.

"I don't see what that has to do with me. Why can't you send one of your own? Need I remind you that I'm not one of your _chosen —_." The young woman stopped, as though she'd been suddenly told something that changed her mind. "Alright. Yes. Alright. I'll do it." Another pause. "I know them, I've read about them. It won't be a problem. Just send me the address to the Institute."

With that, she hung up the cell phone, lingering by the edge of the balcony as she did so. Weighing the object in her hand, the young woman raised one of her long, black brows and seemed to smirk like an elegant animal. She then turned to the exact spot where Clary stood, and much to Clary's surprise, offered a greeting.

"You seem confused. Don't worry. I think you'll find that your confusion is the least of your worries right now, Clary Valentine."


	3. Still a Lightwood

(( **Disclaimer:** As stated in the previous two chapters, I do not own the Mortal Instruments universe or any of the characters indigenous to it. The creator, Cassandra Clare, owns all those things. Only the plot lines, the writing itself, and any original characters inserted into the Mortal Instruments universe belong to me. Please do **review** if you enjoy! I love feedback, it keeps me going! Enjoy. ))

"And why not death rather than living torment?  
To die is to be banish'd from myself;  
And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her  
Is self from self: a deadly banishment!"

- Two Gentlmen of Verona ( I, i, 171-174)

Jace stood over the open sketchpad, his face unreadable, as Isabelle hovered behind him, herself lost in thought. The two of them had heard Clary scream and instantly ran towards the source of the sound. He had just finished getting dressed after a shower, and Isabelle had been rifling through an old book she asked to borrow from Magnus Bane. Jace had been briefly startled by Isabelle's fervor, though he hadn't shown it. She had changed so much while he had been trapped inside his own body, being controlled by Sebastian. She was angrier and more invested than Jace could ever remember her being. Jace had not spent much time with anyone besides Clary ever since he returned to his true self; everything else felt so foreign.

Especially at that moment, when he came upon Clary's deserted sketchpad. She was an artist but she was not a terribly messy artist, nor was she specifically an absent-minded one. She would not have just left her belongings strewn about a random corridor, unless she was forced or she had been ambushed. Jace could feel the air around him run dry, and his throat started to contract, battling the onslaught of unknowns as it became quite clear that Clary had been kidnapped. He turned to look at Isabelle and saw that she, too, was trying to hold back a volcanic emotion; they locked eyes and for a moment Jace considered how much more tired Isabelle seemed to him now, but before he could ask her to stay behind she was drawing up a plan of action.

"We can go to the Silent Brothers. Brother Zachariah still comes here frequently, even Brother Enoch. There may be someone around here right now. This was the last thing she touched, I'm sure of it. That should help them find her."

"Isabelle." Jace interrupted her, his voice even.

But she continued, raising her pitch. "We are not going to wait for anyone else if we don't have to. We just need a location and then we are going. I know you will go. I am coming with you. Don't try to talk me out of it."

"Isabelle," Jace's caustic drawl interjected, "It might be smarter to take a closer look at this sketchpad, considering there's a drawing of Clary in the lower corner, there."

He had been studying the sketchpad while Isabelle had been ranting on about what to do. Jace had a penchant for acting alone until he was sure of himself—something that Sebastian clearly could not take away from him, nor could the sword of Michael when it vanquished all the evil inside him.

Stepping closer to Isabelle, he nodded his head towards the sketchpad at their feet and glanced about the corridor to make sure they were alone.

"Why are you doing that?" She regarded him skeptically, in a whisper.

"I'm not a big fan of anybody I don't know for sure will die for me, so if you don't mind I'd like to make this rescue mission both swift and under the radar. Jocelyn will murder me, and I've only just reunited with my one true love. That would be a bit cruel, don't you think? I may have the Heavenly Fire running through my veins but I still have needs." Jace deadpanned.

Isabelle slapped his arm. "Jace Lightwood you don't get to act like that anymore. You don't have to hide your pain."

Jace's brows shot up, in the gentle manner they always did when he chose to leak his true feelings, at the name he called her. "You still consider me a Lightwood?"

"Is that even a question? Can we please look for your girlfriend? I'm surprised you have time to talk about anything else." Isabelle threw her hands up, but before she could say another word Jace had scooped up the sketchpad, and Isabelle's wrist, and pulled them down the corridor with the speed and grace even a Shadowhunter could not replicate. There was a small courtyard attached to the stone hallway, filled with thin trees whose branches split out like a cluster of V's, effectively shrouding the sky from view.

Jace tossed the sketchpad on the sun-starved grass. "Look. Do you see her?"

Isabelle dropped to her knees; using her palms to support herself she leaned into the painting, close enough to smudge her nose with the lead on the paper. The proximity did not reveal anything to her, however, and Isabelle whispered harshly, "Are you trying to play some sort of prank? Did Sebastian get in your head and change your sense of humor?"

She instantly regretted saying it, the words deflating as they finished from her lips. "Jace…"

"Look again." He was staring at the lower right corner of the sketchpad. Isabelle's eyes slowly followed his gaze, her lids lowered in guilt. Something seemed to move on the smooth surface, and Isabelle felt her eyes slip out of focus. When they refocused, she was staring at a very distinct picture of Clary, holding on to the rail of a balcony with one hand, drawn with calm expression. Jace made a strangled noise. Isabelle snapped her head up at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just sick of this kind of stuff. When will it end, you know? I'm willing to bet Church on the obvious caveat in this situation—in every situation involving me. Someone wants something from me, from us, from Shadowhunters, from the squiggly Peeping Tom in the sky, from whatever they think we have. And so they've trapped Clary in this painting until we give them what they want." He seemed resolute, stuffing his hands in his pocket, a gesture that seemed so cavalier given the situation. His eyes, however, were dark with concentration.

"That's a lot to surmise from an abandoned sketchpad and a suspicious picture the size of a human palm." Isabelle's face was the same unreadable shade that often graced Jace's features.

"Isabelle, look."

"I already saw it, Jace. I already—."

"_No_. Isabelle, _look_."

She gave a lazy side-glance at the sketchpad again, and what she saw pulled her gaze forward and pushed her body back in surprise. She stood, stepping away from the pad as her hands flew towards it, grabbing the corner and running across the small drawing of Clary on the balcony. It had come to life.

"Jace," Isabelle breathed, pulling her hand away from the drawing. "I think you can go inside it. I think…" Her eyes narrowed. For a moment it appeared as if she had just lost a very important thought, but then a smooth detachment washed over her face. "I think it's a Portal."

Jace did not wait to hear anything more. He thrust his hand out towards the drawing, seizing it up in his fist, and within moments his body was sucked into the paper, gone from sight with a quick _pop_.


	4. More Than Legend

(( **Disclaimer: **You know the drill. I don't own the Mortal Instruments universe or any of the characters indigenous to it. Those all belong to their creator, Cassandra Clare. I do own, however, the story line, the writing itself, and any original characters I add to the Mortal Instruments universe. Please **review** if you like what you read! Feedback keeps me going. :D I am so glad you guys are enjoying the story so far. ))

"for there is nothing either good or bad,  
but thinking makes it so."  
- Hamlet ( II, ii, pg. 11)

The Institute was surprisingly quiet, considering how much traffic it had been hosting in the past week. The Silent Brothers came and went, mainly Brother Enoch and Brother Zachariah, but there were other visitors as well. Aline Penhallow had visited a handful of times, usually to see Isabelle and discuss what the two girls referred to as "private matters" whenever Alec or Jace asked. The Lightwoods had kept a short list of allowed guests but those who were given access were given it frequently. The stillness of the air would have been out of the ordinary, were anybody there to observe it.

In fact, the only inhabitant currently there was Alec, and he had been sleeping since the evening before. The last week had been a miserable blur for him, after he and Magnus had broken up. He tried, just a few times, to find solace in Isabelle, but her harsh response when he told her the truth about why he and Magnus broke up propelled him back into solitary sadness. He tossed about occasionally as he slept, stirring with nightmares.

He was not interested much in being awake, considering the state of things around him.

Yet, as the stagnant feeling rose, like hot air, throughout the Institute, Alec slowly woke up. His eyes adjusted to the dim light of his room. "Izzy?" He called out, mostly aware that if she were farther than down the hall she would not hear him. Still, he called for her again. He just wanted the reassurance of another voice. "Izzy?"

"Are you always this pathetic?"

A voice did answer him, but it was not the one Alec expected. Low, neutralized in accent, and most certainly female; the voice made him shiver despite the blankets piled on top of him. The voice reminded him of the thick, connected movements of oil as it traveled across a surface.

Alec may not have possessed the Heavenly Fire inside him, like Jace, but he was a Lightwood and that made him a World Class Shadowhunter to many. His surprise and his fear were instantly dulled by his instincts, if not also a little by his sorrow. There was less urgency in life without Magnus, and Alec felt that very sedation now as he continued to lie in bed, protracting his gaze to the silhouette now that belonged to the voice.

It was a young woman with the figure of a warrior who worked in the shadows. Slender, tall, pliable, and quick. She appeared to be able to change just by some trick of the light, and as Alec watched her with a guarded expression he noticed the angles of her face. She was not like any of the young women he had seen in his life. Shadowhunters were often of European or Nordic descent, and despite studying at an Institute in New York City, a hub of cultural diversity, both mundane and Downworlder alike, Alec spent little time around those he did not have an explicit reason to be around.

Which meant that he was used to women like Camille, or women like Clary, who either hid from their femininity or used it to soften the men they kept company with. He was used to the candor of a face whose features could be seen all at once. Alec was used to women who could be remembered after being seen just once.

What he saw before him was foreign enough to his concept of a young woman, was striking and alluring and baffling enough to him, that for a brief moment he felt a small flare in his chest. He forgot the question. "What?"

The young woman laughed, and it was no less mysterious than her appearance. It sounded like a kaleidoscope lived in her throat, and it scattered the strings of her laugh about, filling the entire room with different textures and meanings. "That answers my question. Are you a Lightwood? I need to speak to one of the Lightwoods. Preferably the one running this place."

Alec pushed the covers away from his chest and sat up. His eyes traveled to her dark brown hair, which was messily held in a ponytail that appeared to have been tossed about from the night wind. Some of it hung down in tendrils, dripping guiltily with rainwater. "I am a Lightwood. Not the Lightwood who runs this place, but I am certainly 'in line' for the gig, as they say."

"Who's they?"

"What?"

"Who's they? Are you still asleep? You seem to be having great difficulty with simple questions." The young woman took a step towards him, and as she did Alec pushed the blankets even further away, swinging his legs off the bed.

"It's a figure of speech. Who are you? What do you want?"

"Ah, finally, you're behaving somewhat rationally." The young woman smirked, and as she did her nose seemed to pull itself down, briefly disrupting its arrow straight appearance. Alec felt his chest tighten.

"If you came here to speak to a Lightwood," he stood while speaking, trying to ignore the buzzing in his breast, "then you should know what we are, and what I am capable of, at the very least."

"Is that a threat? Do you think a little _Nephilim_ son can do anything to me?" She swayed in place for a moment. Alec squinted. He wondered if the dim light of his room was making her appear illusory.

"Who are you?" He repeated, raising his voice. Alec was blessed with a face that appeared harsh even when at rest, so when he truly was agitated his expression was enough to incite fear in those who crossed it. The young woman, however, seemed neutral. After a minute, she began to move towards the door. Alec, quick as a fox in hunt, darted between the young woman and the doorway. The abrupt movement had left him breathless, and it appeared to have done the same to her, but when he rushed to block her she had been facing the spot he intended to take before he took it, smiling. Like she had been waiting for him.

"Alec Lightwood. You certainly aren't the one with Angel blood." The young woman chuckled; it was a soft on his ears, and he caught the tingle of breath that came from it. They remained still, and close, as she chuckled again. "I know about you and the Warlock."

This suddenly sobered Alec. He took a step back, expression cross. "What? How do you-what exactly are you talking about?"

The young woman sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose in frustration. Her fingers were slender and tan. "Don't you get it? None of that matters. You're not asking the right questions. The larger point, here, Mr. Lightwood, is that I obviously know much more than I've let on, and what I've let on is enough to frighten you into a defensive mode. You're better off answering _my _ questions first."

Alec moved slowly towards his dresser, aware that his stele was in the first drawer, under a small pile of shirts.

"Your silly magic drawing sticks won't work on me. Neither will your daggers. Just as your friend Clary Valentine found out, I am not anything you have been trained to understand. Do your part. Answer my questions and you might be spared the fate that awaits your friend, daughter of Valentine."

He was not listening to her. He had already lunged for the dresser, grabbing both his stele and a slender, hooked dagger simultaneously. Twisting his waist, he flung the dagger with his full might in the direction of the young woman, but as his body came around he saw the blurry image of her feet, and then there was nothing in front of him. The dagger slammed into the wall across from him.


	5. What happened to you?

(( **Disclaimer: **Again, I do not own the Mortal Instruments universe or any characters indigenous to it. Those all belong to their creator, Cassandra Clare. I do own, however, the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into the Mortal Instruments universe. I hope you guys are enjoying the pace of the story so far. Please please please **review** with your feelings/reactions/thoughts! Feedback is so important to me, especially in an on-going story like this. It helps me tweak things and sharpen my planning! **Review review review :D ! **And now, I bring you, the chapter you were *maybe* waiting for. I was, at least. xD ))

"Love of heaven makes one heavenly."  
- Sir Philip Sidney

Isabelle had not waited to follow Jace. It was her nature to follow him into combat, and this was no different. The two of them were slurped up by the little drawing, and spit out onto the balcony they had seen in the sketch, except Clary was nowhere in sight. Isabelle's hand was stuck to the railing, and as she glanced over her shoulder she realized that Jace had the same problem, struggling with his own hand a few paces behind her.

"Are you okay?" She shouted at him over the shivering rain and deafening wind that beat against them while they each worked to free themselves.

"Yes, I'm fine!" Jace shouted back, his hair sticking to his face as the rain swelled. "Did you see Clary?"

Isabelle frowned, pausing. "No."

Thunder growled above them, and shortly after lightning illuminated the sky. Their hands were still stuck to the railing. Isabelle could feel the skin of her palm splitting open as she yanked on the metal. As she fought harder, her hand felt heavier. It reminded her of a mundane paper toy she'd found once at a street fair in Brooklyn, when she, Jace, and Alec had been investigating a demon disturbance. It was called a Chinese Finger Trap; the harder you fought, the tighter it squeezed itself around your finger.

Isabelle suddenly laughed. _There's no way it is that easy_, she thought as she furrowed her brows. The rain had dampened her long hair so it stuck to her neck, becoming somewhat of a tight plaster that ran down to her mid-back. She pushed a few hanging strands from her eyes. "Jace," she shouted over the wind. "Jace, don't struggle. Relax your hand, and then let go."

No reply came, but moments later she felt Jace beside her, both of his hands free. She closed her eyes and slowed her breaths until the hand that was attached to the railing felt very light. "Now," Jace whispered, and Isabelle lifted her hand off the railing. It separated easily.

"There's no one else on this balcony." Jace pushed his dripping hair back into a wet pile on top of his head. He cursed.

"We will find her." Isabelle was not looking at Jace when she offered him this comfort, but instead above them at the looming brick building that continued past the balcony for quite some distance. "Can you see the top of the building from here?" She regarded Jace with an unreadable expression.

Though they had been trained together, there were some things about being a _female_ Shadowhunter that Jace could not understand. Isabelle knew instinctively that if Clary had stepped through the drawing her hand would have been attached to the railing as well. Since there were no doors connecting the balcony to inside the building, and there appeared to be no abandoned grappling hooks to indicate escaping into the forest beneath them, either Clary or Clary's kidnapper would have only had the option of going _up_. Clary was a small girl, and Isabelle had been in enough fights with enough ignorant demons and Downworlders to know that petite warriors were, if trapped in the right way, not warriors at all. Clary's major strength would come from her core, and if someone bound her arms to her sides most of that strength would exhaust itself against the bindings.

Isabelle made a strangled sound, disturbed by the thought too deeply. Jace cut her off, grabbing her shoulder and pointing to a spot above their heads. She followed his gaze, and noticed a tall silhouette scaling the building, moving closer to them. As it approached, Isabelle spotted the unmistakable shade of silvery hair that belonged to someone she had not expected to see this soon. The whip, coiled loyally around her arm, began to slither its way down into her palm, preparing itself.

Jace's voice cut through the rain. "Sebastian." He regarded the figure as it jumped down onto the balcony, joining them.

Both Jace and Isabelle went for their weapons. Jace wielded four tiny little daggers between each of the fingers on his right hand. He had only just begun practicing with them a few days ago (upon suggestion from Simon, that was at first meant to be a joke but then grew to some value for Jace) so it was difficult to get a clear shot in the furious wind, but he hadn't had time to bring any other weapons. He and Isabelle had simply found the sketchpad and jumped inside the drawing on it. In fact, Jace suddenly realized, Alec did not know they were gone. He dared a glance over his shoulder at Isabelle, slightly relieved to see that she'd brought her whip with her. Glinting, tucked into the back of her belt, was also her stele. They stood somewhat of a chance.

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon," Jace called out to Sebastian as the taller, paler boy straightened himself and shook the rain from his eyelashes. "You're looking a little sickly. I realize I may have been the best company you've ever had. It would be hard, I imagine, to readjust to mediocre life after that." Jace drawled on, smirking a bit as he tightened his grip on the small daggers protruding from his knuckles. The night sky almost covered their metallic sheen, perhaps allowing them to be mistaken for small, pointed twigs.

Isabelle resisted the overwhelming desire to roll her eyes. This was not a situation to instigate, but after a moment she saw some value in agitating Sebastian. Primarily, it had the ability to distract him, which Isabelle hoped it was doing at that moment. She took a step towards Sebastian, considering which part of his body to hit first. Isabelle knew she would not have more than a few seconds to act.

Jace appeared to have been waiting for a response from Sebastian, for when none came he called out again. "Come on, Sebastian. Don't tell me you're not up for conversation. I know you have Clary."

The last sentence came as a surprise to Isabelle, but it did not break her concentration. _It makes sense though, doesn't it_? She thought to herself, allowing her eyes to survey the balcony. Sebastian, whose face had been shrouded by both the shadow from his brow bone and the midnight sky, looked up at the same words that prompted Isabelle. "I don't have Clary. I didn't even know she was here." His voice was flat.

Jace rocked forward slightly, conscious of Isabelle next to him, and waited for Sebastian to speak again. They were met with silence. Sebastian lowered his head again, once more guarding his expression from view. "Liar," Jace growled, and leapt forward with all the strength in his thighs, whipping his right hand forward and releasing the daggers one by one. They lanced into the foggy night. Sebastian disappeared from view. Jace held his breath, reaching into his pocket for the only other weapon he had with him; another small dagger, this one wide and flat.

Isabelle turned her back to touch Jace's back, her whip curled back in preparation.

The night seemed to freeze for a moment; lightning struck, and the balcony was entirely exposed. Isabelle could not see anyone. Jace's breath was the only disturbance to the otherwise tranquil feeling that gripped the air.

Another strike of lightning illuminated Sebastian's looming frame before them, his head still lowered. The pale boy's hands were in his pockets, and despite the expensive dark suit he wore, surely wilting in the rain, he seemed very disheveled.

"I don't have Clary," he spoke, and Jace detected an undertone of something he never imagined could even come from Sebastian. The boy's voice was abused, crackling like the embers of a dying fire. It was hoarse and perhaps even the slightest bit afraid. _  
_

"By the Angel," Jace lowered his hands and sighed, "what happened to you?"


	6. The Deal

(( **Disclaimer:** Don't own The Mortal Instruments universe, or any characters that belong to it. Cassandra Clare owns all of that, as she is the creator and writer of The Mortal Instruments series. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I have added to The Mortal Instruments universe. If you like what you read, please **review**! :D It makes me ever so happy! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It was so much fun to write. ^.^ ))

"Hell is empty,  
And all the devils are here."  
- The Tempest ( I, ii, pg. 10)

Sebastian was blurred by the rain. Jace felt himself propelling forward, and in an unbelievably surreal act, reaching out to grab the silver-haired boy's shoulder. Isabelle was at Jace's heels, whip still uncoiled and dangling from her fingers. To Jace's surprise, Sebastian did not resist being grabbed, and he even stumbled, crumpling ever so slightly as soon as Jace made contact with his shirt.

"Tell me what happened to you," Jace repeated his question, tasting the acidity of the rain on his lips as he held them parted in anticipation of the answer. For some reason, he felt as though it had to do with Clary.

"I don't have Clary," was all Sebastian replied with, his hair now dripping over his eyes. It was the most vulnerable Jace had ever seen him, and for a moment he had to remind himself that the demon blood running through Sebastian prohibited him from experiencing real emotion. "Like I said, I didn't even know she was here."

Isabelle suddenly reached out and slapped Sebastian with her weapon free hand, yelping as she did so. Jace instinctively grabbed Sebastian's elbows and spun the boy around, facing him towards the balcony, and pinched his arms together behind the middle of his back. Isabelle was in front of them, her face pulled into bubbling rage. "I'm not in the mood for word play, or riddles, or liars, or any more crap. Answer our questions."

For a moment she saw the flicker of fight kindle across Sebastian's face, but it seemed to have been yanked out of him with great force by a thought that crossed his brow, knitting it in what Isabelle would have otherwise interpreted as fear, but they were dealing with someone who was part demon. _Surely_, Isabelle assured herself, _evil did not feel fear_. _Certainly not Jonathan Morgenstern._

Other than holding Sebastian, who had not been making any attempts at escaping, Jace had been silent. Isabelle made note of this as she breathlessly waited for Sebastian to speak, her eyes darting between the two boys. She almost asked why Jace was behaving as though his emotions were sedated, but her Shadowhunter training beat the impulse down. In a fight, there was only one focus; _overthrow_. Isabelle suddenly shot out her hand, grabbing Sebastian's throat. He did not struggle but his body did jerk, surprised by the attack.

"Isabelle!" Jace, much to her surprise, reached out to grab her wrist. "Let go of him," he said, face unreadable.

This was too much to ignore. Isabelle found herself shouting, "what is wrong with you? Why are you being so sedated about this? Clary is _missing_!"

"Yeah, for maybe ten minutes," Jace muttered.

Sebastian, who had been frozen in Isabelle's grip, finally began to writhe in place. It was a pathetic and slovenly movement on such a smooth, tall frame. Jace did not move to stop the boy, and Isabelle was so absorbed in shouting that she even let go of Sebastian in order to free a hand to slap Jace across the face with.

"_What is your problem_?" She nearly growled.

There was no answer. Sebastian, free now, was rubbing his neck and aiming his gaze down at the forest below them. Though the scene before him would have normally held great interest, it meant close to nothing now. He was not concerned with any of the Shadowhunters, neither was he with The Clave. Turning to Jace, who had been lingering in contemplative silence, Sebastian coughed to clear his throat and then spoke. "I don't know what's going on, here. I'm sure it's interesting. I don't care."

"You wanted to marry her now you don't even care about her?." Jace interjected, voice acerbic.

"That's not-", Sebastian began, but then he quickly clamped his mouth shut, glancing back down at the forest. It was another foreign movement on him, seeming to perverse the unspoken beauty of his proud figure. Jace was not unaware of these little changes in behavior, these minute aberrations of character unfolding before he and Isabelle. He stepped towards Sebastian, now close enough to see the shifting colors of the boy's eyes. "That's not what? Not true? Hell is a place for liars, don't be shy now."

"Your battle is not with me." Sebastian replied, his voice muddled with the unmistakeable defeat of sadness.

Jace grabbed the front of the boy's shirt, bringing their chins to touch, and he let out a laugh. It seemed to catch Sebastian off-guard, which Isabelle noticed only because it shocked her the same. "Where is Clary?"

"You know just moments ago you and your sister were arguing over your apparent lack of enthusiasm over finding my sister. Your girlfriend. Whatever." Sebastian's voice was steady through the gust of wind that momentarily overtook the balcony.

Laughing again, this time louder, Jace shot back, "You know nothing."

Isabelle frowned. "Actually, he is right about that. You were being really weird. In fact, you have been from the moment we found the sketchpad. You said something about-."

"Sketchpad?" Sebastian's interest seemed to have suddenly peaked its agenda. "Was it a Portal?"

"What?" Jace and Isabelle echoed simultaneously.

Sebastian sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, the first act since they'd come across him that reminded Jace of the old Sebastian, the one he spent months traveling Europe with. "Was there a drawing in the sketchpad that was also a Portal? Is that how you ended up here?" The last questioned seemed to inflate him with something strangely resembling hope, to Jace's observation.

Neither Isabelle nor Jace felt safe to answer. Sebastian detected this, and hesitantly added, "That's how I ended up here. I'm looking for someone, actually." He cut himself off, clearly prepared to say more but thinking better of it. Jace could not help himself but comment. "Wow, you really have changed. It's almost like you're not part demon anymore." Then, he added thoughtfully. "Who am I kidding? You're a terrible person, demon blood or not."

Isabelle had been considering Sebastian's question. Part of her wanted to answer him, perhaps even demand cooperation from him if they did. If the Portal Clary disappeared through resembled the Portal Sebastian used to get to the exact same location, that could not be a coincidence. She smacked Sebastian's shoulder, to get his attention. "What if it was? If we help you find this-this person, will you help us find Clary?"

Sebastian's eyes seemed to momentarily slip back into the cruelty Jace was so used to them reflecting. He grabbed Sebastian's shoulder. "Swear to it, you pitiless recreant."

But Sebastian did not flinch at the fist on his chest, or at the words that might have provoked him just a week before. Instead, he drank from silence while distributing his gaze between Jace and Isabelle. He seemed to disappear from his own face, as though the skin and bones and muscle that held the place of his face had grown tired, yet now even without a soul to animate them they could not give up. It was all an exhausted, hanging mess.

Jace felt a flare of curiosity over this person Sebastian sought. What could shake a demon into behaving human?

Before Jace could contemplate an answer, Sebastian parted his lips just enough to whisper, "I swear to it."


	7. Who Do You Fight For?

(( **Disclaimer:** I am sort of in a rush, so I didn't get to write everything I wanted to in this chapter but I plan on updating at least once more later today, so the next chapter will be much longer, making up for what I couldn't fit in here. You know the drill. I don't know The Mortal Instruments universe or any characters indigenous to it. Those all belong to their creator, Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. If you like what you read, please please please **review**! :D I hope you enjoy... ))

"O! my oblivion is a very Antony,  
And I am all forgotten."

Antony and Cleopatra, ( I, iii, 92)

Simon never imagined he would yearn for the Mark of Cain as he did every moment since the battle with Sebastian, which at this point had been exactly a week ago. Having been offered a room in the Institute, under Isabelle's insistence, Simon had spent the last seven days tossing at night in his new sheets, sometimes waking suddenly in sweat. A phantom pain haunted his forehead, where the Mark once was, but every time he put his hand on it the pain turned to relief. Though he could not remember his dreams the following mornings, he had the feeling they mostly centered around the Mark.

It was a curious thing, to ache for freedom from a curse and then to wish its return to you.

That morning he and Isabelle made plans to meet for coffee at The Beanery, a new local spot Simon had the brief motivation to look up. Isabelle had mentioned needing to talk to him about something important, regarding a book she'd lent from Magnus; considering the recent atmosphere, Simon thought it would be nice for them to have their talk at a neutral, potentially exciting location. Not that he was trying to make it a _date_, or anything. He did, however, wonder what Isabelle would wear to meet him. Did that make a difference? Simon chided himself for worrying so much as he waited for Isabelle, leaning against the side of the building that housed The Beanery, as well as two other restaurants and an exotic jewelry shop. _  
_

Forty-five minutes had passed since the time they decided to meet, but Simon was not particularly worried. Isabelle's focus, ever since Jace had returned to his true self, had been entirely on her family and Clary. Though Simon knew he was at least _somewhat_ important to Izzy, he did not want to push his luck by demanding for attention while her family was suffering immensely. Nevermind the fact that Simon, too, was suffering with his own family...

His thoughts strayed to Becca, and for a moment his mood oscillated between horribly guilty and elated. She had offered him what his mother could not, and although he knew it was taxing on Becca, to try to understand him, he was grateful enough to allow himself tiny blips of happiness. Like a storm cloud rolling overhead his moment of joy, the realization that Becca would age and die without him, that she would leave him someday, collapsed Simon's fleeting good spirits. He checked a glance at his watch, to distract himself.

Unfortunately, seeing that it had now been almost an hour since he and Izzy were to meet did not distract him from feeling terrible. He simply began feeling terrible about something else. "Where are you, Iz?" He muttered to himself, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. As he pulled it out, dialing her number, he started walking in the direction of the Institute. It was roughly fourteen blocks from The Beanery, but Simon was no longer afraid of weather, since becoming a vampire, and he needed to burn all the excess energy zinging about inside him. A walk would be good, he assured himself.

Holding the phone to his ears, he waited as it rang repeatedly.

* * *

The dagger was wedged into the wall, fitting accidentally between two bricks. Alec did not retrieve it, but rather held his stele with a sweaty palm, breathing evenly as his eyes scanned the room. Admittedly, some part of him felt quite good at the surge of adrenaline. The break-up with Magnus was like sludge in his veins, dragging him down where it was alright to just let everything go. Now that he was in fight mode, in Shadowhunter mode, Alec felt like he was beginning to remember his true self. He was relearning an old skill. There were things worth holding on to, one of them being the immense satisfaction of punching someone obnoxious in the face. He twirled the stele.

"Where did you go?" Alec hummed pleasantly.

No answer. He spun a few times, gathering his sights for the smallest bit of movement.

The room remained still.

"That's alright, I don't mind a little game of hide and seek." Alec smirked, rocking back on his heels, preparing to spring forward.

Before he could, the woman's voice interrupted. "I do mind. I'm not here to play games." The sound came from over his shoulder. Alec quickly spun around. She stood, almost lazily, with her arms folded across her chest and her hair free from the ponytail she'd arrived with. Her hair, long and defiant, folded and fell over itself, creating a wide curl leaning towards one side of her face. She pushed the hair back with a slender, tan hand, and it fell into a different shape. When she stepped towards him, it swayed ever so slightly with her. The ends were heavy with rainwater. Her eyelashes were longer than he'd first noticed, and her eyes, brown and angry, were intrepid towards Alec's prolonged staring. He snapped his head, reeling away from the thought, and held his stele out towards her.

"You are the one playing games. You won't tell me who you are." Alec tried to engage her in conversation as his mind racked for the proper rune to use in this situation. He was not as interested in injuring or killing her as he was in capturing her. It would be no use to kill her. If she was a messenger she held value, and if she was the threat itself she held value. He scanned his memory for binding or trapping runes.

But before he could land on one, the young woman lunged for his stele and knocked it out of his hand. Alec propelled his body towards the wall, yanking the dagger out from between the bricks and rounding on the young woman. He flung the knife at her again, this time with more precision than force behind his aim, and it grazed her sleeve. The dagger hit the wall opposite him, and clattered to the ground.

A small tear was left on the young woman's sleeve, and the fabric of her shirt hung limp, exposing a patch of skin. She glanced down at it, her hair now covering her face entirely, and Alec heard the unmistakable timbre of a laugh.

"You have one more chance to tell me who you are," he half shouted, agitated by her cavalier reaction.

She slowly raised her gaze, meeting Alec with a contemplative expression. Her features smoothed after a moment. "I don't want to harm you. In fact, I'm not really _supposed_ to, but no one polices us. We're not like you _Nephilim_."

"What?" Alec narrowed his eyes at her. "So you are someone's soldier?"

The young woman assumed an innocence in her face, shrugging. "Oops," her voice dripped sweetly, as the innocence turned to a smirk. "I've said too much, haven't I?"


	8. Nature's War

(( **Disclaimer: **I do not own The Mortal Instruments universe, or any characters indigenous to it. That all belongs to their owner, Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. If you like what you read, please **review!** The story line is building. Don't worry, we'll catch up with Clary soon, and Jace and Isabelle are coming up in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy. :D ))

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale  
Her infinite variety."

Antony and Cleopatra ( II, ii, 244)

Alec had been standing weaponless in front of the young woman, who was an intruder, and although it went against his Shadowhunter training he continued to stand. The dagger was still abandoned on the floor by the wall across from them, and the stele was knocked out of his hand so quickly he hadn't been able to see where it went. Alec had not dealt with anyone that possessed the speed this young woman displayed.

He raised a brow at her, hesitant to divulge his curiosity. As he spoke, he framed his guesses with an air of certainty, in order to at the very least draw her out. "You are a soldier of some kind, for some faction or organization that has heard of us. And, yet, I can think of nothing that fits you."

"You wouldn't have even heard of me. I am less relevant than the whisper of wind across a mountain peak, to you. Not only would we, under normal circumstances, never cross paths, you wouldn't know it if we ever did." She held her smirk. Alec could not discern the truth of her tenor, having only just met her, so instead he watched her body to see if she was lying. Some people, as he'd been taught to recognize, had a tick when they were nervous or being dishonest. She seemed so relaxed, it irked him. The only rigid thing about her was her posture, and yet the limbs that clung to it were unrefined. The young woman was both elegant and abrasive. Even her eyes, crowded with the darkness of her lashes, held imperfections. One pupil was noticeably bigger than the other, the smaller one a slightly oblong shape instead of the usual circle. The divide of her nose, its subtle curve downwards when she smirked, the fullness of her cheeks, the slope of her brows, the way her lower lip was thicker than her upper lip, all seemed to pull Alec in deeper the longer he studied them. A mere second felt like several hits from a drug, and though he had never actually tried drugs Alec imagined the rush felt something like the current inflation of his chest. Tight breaths, and perhaps the smallest bit of danger, filled him up, raising his shoulders.

She interrupted his thoughts. "I'm surprised you had nothing to say to that. You've suddenly become boring, and I regret sparing you." Her dark eyes fluttered with the remnants of a cheeky wink.

"Why aren't these circumstances normal?" Alec tried to look annoyed.

This made her pause. The smirk on her face was replaced with a stoic, straight-lipped gaze. Silence invaded the room, and it strayed Alec's thoughts once more. He felt his chest filling rapidly again.

"Why aren't these circumstances normal?" He echoed himself, slightly breathless.

"Are you alright?" Her question surprised him, but what was even more unexpected was the gentleness in her voice.

Alec almost believed it. "You're mocking me."

She chuckled. "You made it easy."

"Whoever's soldier you are... is being a sarcastic instigator part of your orders?" He regarded her with bitterness.

This seemed to have struck a chord in the young woman, for she suddenly moved forward and seized the front of Alec's shirt, tossing him effortlessly across the room. He sailed through the air like a rag doll, quite luckily hitting the headboard, bouncing off and rolling over onto the bed. Clutching the back of his head, he gave a low grunt. And then a slew of curses. As he tried to sit up, hands grabbed the sides of his head, covering both ears. The young woman pulled Alec's face up to meet hers.

When she spoke, it was a slow whisper. "I am not a soldier of anything that thinks, eats, walks, speaks, breathes, or feels emotions, emotions like the one you had for that Warlock... yes, did you forget him so easily? I am sarcastic because I choose to be, and what you may call instigating I call _killing time_. You think this is all such a big deal, and perhaps you're right. Perhaps, for you and for your friends and your _Nephilim_ brothers and sisters this is a big deal. But, for me, this is a janitor job. This is a punishment. This is the snot dribbling down a baby's nose, bleeding into its mouth while mommy is too drunk to remember what a fucking napkin is. For the last and final time, _stop_ asking me who I am, and stop trying to prod information out of me. You will answer _my _questions, you will do as I say, and you will pray to your God that your friend, Clary Valentine, is the last payment that will be extracted from the mess you have all created."

She finally had Alec's attention more than she had his suspicion. "What did you say, about Clary?"

"The same thing I said earlier, essentially." The young woman sounded increasingly bored, and she let go of his head with a violent shove.

"Do you have Clary? Did you take her?" He jumped off the bed and took a few steps back, glancing between the young woman and the dagger that had fallen against the wall earlier. His head was throbbing, but the adrenaline coursing through him dulled the pain with each passing second.

The question seemed to have offended her, for a cool detachment washed over her face. Her eyes, trenchant upon him, deepened their brown hue in mere seconds. "_I_ didn't do anything. _You_, however, are clearly a poor listener. Don't try to bargain for your friend, or ask me where she is or what happened to her. Understand that you upset the balance, and life does not favor the pretty heroines and their lovestruck male suitors. Here," she paused, gesturing around them, arms outstretched, "here is where we are. Where everyone is. This is space. You occupy space. Your precious Isabelle and Jace Lightwood occupy space. Clary Valentine occupies space. When you occupy space that does not belong to you, there are consequences. _I_ didn't do a damn thing. I am simply-."

"The janitor?" Alec echoed her very same words from before. "What did Clary do to upset the balance?"

The young woman opened her mouth, presumably to answer Alec, but she suddenly stopped. Perking a brow, she glanced towards the door and waited, slightly squinting one of her eyes. Then, she smirked. "We are not alone anymore."

Alec followed her gaze to the door, but saw nothing. He checked a dubious glance back at her, realizing that she was fixated on the doorway, giving him a chance to move closer to the dagger still left on the floor. And he did so, with quiet control in each step.

"That dagger is made of metal, which, though processed by human hands, comes from nature. You cannot harm me with that dagger any more than you could harm me with the tickle of your hand on the nape of my neck. There is more use in trying to overpower me with sheer force than to use a natural weapon against me." Despite staying in her place, the young woman's eyes bore down Alec as she spoke.

He flirted with an unreadable expression. The young woman almost seemed annoyed by a lack of something coming from Alec. "Are you not shocked? Does that not interest you?" She fired, the strange taste of vulnerability lingering in her anxious tone.

Alec nodded slowly, walking towards her as he did. "Yes, actually, I am interested." He stopped when he was close enough for their toes to touch. "In what you said." His hand slowly came up, and although she flinched she did not step away. Soundlessly, he picked up a hanging tendril of her damp hair and moved it over her shoulder, leaving it to dangle between her shoulder blades. Pushing away the shorter pieces from the site of her collarbone, he slipped his calloused hand across the skin until the nape of her neck sat in his palm. Carefully, delicately, he moved his fingers against her skin as though he might be playing the piano. "As harmful as a dagger." He whispered, unsure himself of what he meant.

At that exact moment, much to Alec's surprise, the door to his room swung open. Mouth agape, hands clutching each side of the doorway, stood Simon. Alec quickly pulled his hand away from the young woman's neck, and cleared his throat while side-stepping away. "Simon." He hurried the greeting, keeping his gaze from directly meeting Simon's.

"What is going on here? Where is everyone? Who is this?" Simon was watching the young woman surreptitiously.

"My, my. Everyone here is too curious. It's an epidemic." The young woman tutted.

"What? Who are you?" Simon repeated, this time addressing her instead of Alec.

"I am Shiva," the girl giggled, "God of death."

"That's from a movie," Simon said accusingly.

"Why, you're right, it is isn't it? You are smart." Her eyes were on Alec as she spoke.

Alec, whose face was slightly flushed, was only looking at the floor. In fact, he appeared to be so absorbed in the floor that Simon looked down himself, thinking there might be something important he wasn't noticing.

The young woman sighed, running a hand through her hair, piling it all to one side and tossing it haphazardly. "I'm sure the floor is incredibly interesting to you two, but believe it or not I have a job to do so let's get to my questions, shall we? Remember what I said, about the Valentine girl."

This snapped Simon to attention. "What? Clary? What about Clary?"


	9. Here and Gone

(( **Disclaimer: **I don't own The Mortal Instruments universe, or any characters indigenous to it. Those all belong to their creator, Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. This was by far the most fun chapter to write. It's twice as long as previous chapters. I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! If you like what you read, please **review :D** ! To my reviewers so far, thank you for your enthusiasm about this story and I hope I can hold your attention as it progresses! Enjoy. ^.^ ))

"We cannot all be masters, nor all masters  
Cannot be truly follow'd."  
- Othello, ( I, i, 44 )

"We have to find a way back," Isabelle observed the two boys who stood across from each other, locked in unreadable expressions. Neither of them acknowledged her when she spoke. Jace had been acting extremely bizarre, Isabelle reflected, even before they traveled through the portrait. He had wanted them to keep their rescue mission a secret; she felt the frustration churning with her adrenaline.

"We have to find a way _back_," she repeated herself, louder. To her surprise, only Sebastian looked over.

"I was in the process of doing just that, when you two showed up. I have an idea, but you probably won't like it." Sebastian shrugged.

Isabelle was taciturn in response. Her eyes were surveying Jace for some inclination of what had been polluting his behavior. The rush of combat often distracted Izzy from any other emotion or stimulus during, but she was trained to reflect on every fight once it was over. '_Yeah, for maybe ten minutes'_... Jace's voice rung in her ears. Without warning, she grabbed the front of Jace's shirt and pulled him away from Sebastian, until they were out of earshot.

Isabelle whispered harshly, "What is going on with you?"

Jace waggled his brows impishly. "I'm not my usual blistering, effervescent self?"

"You're deflecting. You're being the Jace I knew before Clary." She mollified her gaze, aware of Sebastian's curious eyes on them. Despite his peculiar behavior, she still believed it was in their best interest to neutralize Sebastian's knowledge into their inner workings.

No reply came. Isabelle pressed on, "We don't have time for this. We need to get Clary back."

This drew a tiny snort from Jace. "Isn't that always the state of things? No time? Need to save so-and-so? Demon-ichor everywhere, lots of hugging afterwards?"

"That's harsh, considering what we've been through for you." Isabelle leveled her voice to mask her true ire at his words. "You're being selfish. Save it for later."

With that, she turned and walked back over to Sebastian, leaving Jace with his lips ajar, an unspoken thought hinging on them even as they shut.

"Are you two done?" Sebastian's eyelashes had formed into long, curling clumps from the steady rainfall. Jace's had begun to do the same. Despite having no relation, Isabelle shivered at the brief, horrible thought of them as siblings. _Clary is Sebastian's sibling, _Izzy reminded herself. She hurriedly replied, "Yes. What's your idea? We don't have a lot of time."

"Time," Sebastian snorted, much reminiscent of Jace just moments earlier, "everyone is always so concerned with time."

"And you're not?" Jace, who had been gathering his scattered weapons, pocketed the last dagger as he spoke, flipping it into a holster.

Sebastian watched him, eerily still as he did so. "I have other concerns." He stepped away from them, reaching out to hold the railing with one hand. "The way out, from what I've gathered, is this way." Extending his arm, Sebastian gestured at the forest below them. Isabelle peered over the balcony, while Jace eyed Sebastian with suspicion. It was Jace who spoke first, his words catching a flurry of wind and rain. "Is it another Portal? Are we jumping, or climbing? Moreover, how do we know we can trust you?"

"I swore, didn't I?" Sebastian snapped. He seemed to be transforming into a more recognizable version of himself. In fact, it was not until that display of irritation that Jace realized he had never witnessed untethered patience from Sebastian. It always came with a price. For Sebastian to have sworn to cooperate with them in exchange for something meant that whatever he wanted in return was dangerous. For him to let Jace and Isabelle tussle without interruption meant something else entirely; Jace watched the silver haired boy silently as he tried to discern this last gesture.

Isabelle had been waiting for Jace to reply, but when he offered nothing except for a piercing stare she took it upon herself to address Sebastian. Her laconic reply made clear her teetering willingness to cooperate, with both Sebastian _and_ Jace. "Answer."

Sebastian's mouth twisted into a caustic smile. It fit his features so well, highlighting the captivating quality that lived in every fierce muscle shifting along his jaw, weighing down his cheeks if only to reveal the cutting depth of their bones. Isabelle noticed then how little he had made eye contact with her. She tried to remember the color of his eyes, but was cut off by Sebastian's reply. "We jump." As though to prove his point, without missing the fact that it might make him more trustworthy, Sebastian hopped up onto the railing, balancing his slender frame by the soles of his feet. He rocked gently to counteract the wind.

Without thinking, Jace followed suit. The brevity of his movements suggested that he was preparing to spar, having turned to face Sebastian once he was standing on the railing, but he just watched the other boy wordlessly.

Isabelle pushed the hair out of her face, letting her ponytail fall between her shoulder blades, and shrugged. "Alright then. We jump." There was something uncouth in trusting someone who possessed evil in their blood, someone who was brought back from the brink of death by a Greater Demon, but Isabelle felt too distant from Jace at the moment to challenge the situation. Sebastian was currently their only link to Clary's whereabouts. Isabelle would save her doubts for later, when she could confront Sebastian without Jace around.

Sebastian took one last sweeping glance around the balcony, and sighed. "Bottoms up," he deadpanned, and let himself fall sideways. As he sailed downwards, Jace could not help but notice the boy crossing his arms over his chest, like a corpse lancing its way down from earth to hell. And then Sebastian was gone, vanishing from view as though he had only been a projection that short circuited. Jace took this as a signal to succeed the other boy's actions, and leapt off the railing, diving into the forest headfirst. Isabelle lingered until she saw Jace dematerialize in the same way, and then, putting one hand on the railing, she threw herself over feet first. As she plunged, Izzy felt her cheeks ripped apart by the rain fighting against her, and her ponytail dismembered by the wind. Just as she was certain the trees below would swallow her up, she felt herself getting sucked through a tunnel, and moments later she landed, still feet first, onto the cold stone floor of the Institute. She was exactly in the same place where they found the sketchpad.

"Took you long enough." Jace's voice drew her attention behind her. Turning, she saw Sebastian leaning lazily against the wall, and Jace twirling a small dagger across his knuckles.

"Is this your idea of helping us? How did returning here help us find Clary?" Isabelle's eyes turned a defiant shade.

"I didn't know we would end up at the Institute. I just knew we would end up wherever the last place was the Portal traveled to," Sebastian yawned as he spoke.

Jace interrupted them, appeased by this news. "Good, so she'll most likely be safe then."

"I wouldn't hold your breath." Sebastian pushed himself off the wall, lowering his gaze. "Unless Clary has an active death wish, or a working knowledge of Double-Port Portals, she'd have to have been pushed off the balcony, and anyone in the business of pushing people off balconies can't be invested in safety."

"When did you become so helpful? It's like you're nothing without me," Jace stepped into Sebastian's chest, causing the silver haired boy to stumble back.

"This is doing nothing for us," Isabelle announced loudly. She had been eying the dagger dancing along Jace's knuckles, and at that moment her hand shot out like a razor, grabbing the knife and tossing it in the air. Catching it with the swipe of her palm, Izzy slid the tip to meet her index finger. She tapped it impatiently. "What's next? Do we just look around the Institute? Seems a bit... underwhelming."

"Well, you two are supposed to be Lightwoods, and yet I seem to be the most capable Shadowhunter here, so don't count on the status quo. Disappointment is a theme around here." Pulling down on the front of his blazer, Sebastian curled his lips into the first smirk Isabelle had seen him wear since they had come across him on the balcony. Underneath the acidity, she detected the subtle aroma of fear. The more time they spent discussing, the more hostile he became.

"Are you running out of time or something?" She inquired.

Sebastian washed his face of any emotion. His lashes were still sodden, giving his eyes a soft quality that could have been mistaken for deep thought. Perhaps it was deep thought. Jace tailed her question with his own. "Do you have somewhere you need to be? You haven't been much help to us so far, perhaps we should just let you find the person you're looking for on your own."

Sebastian grimaced, "I see. You made me swear, but of course you did not. Now, you are not bound the same way I am."

"What do you know about being bound to something?" Jace found himself shouting, unaware until that exact moment how much fury he felt. "The only thing you know how to do is bind, you have no concept of what it's like to be bound." He was not shouting, but there was a sharpness in his voice that still filled the stone corridor.

"_Jace? Isabelle?_" Simon's voice caught all three of them off guard as it interrupted them. Isabelle was the first to spot him. He was running towards them, confusion marring his expression. "Is that-" As he neared, Simon stopped running to support himself against the wall with one hand. It seemed like the shock from the scene before him stayed his legs. "Is that Sebastian?" He echoed, voice cracking much to his chagrin.

"Yes, it's a long story. Clary is missing. He's helping us. We'll kill him later." Isabelle fired her replies. Sebastian rounded his gaze on her at the last thing she said, to which she replied with a smile and the quick flash of the dagger still clutched in her palm.

Simon let go of the wall, straightening. "She's not missing."

Jace sprung forward, seizing the front of Simon's shirt. "What do you know?" Simon, shocked by the rough handling, stuttered out an answer. "S-she's not, well, I mean, she _is_ missing, but, b-but we know where she is! Sort of. I think. Can you please put me down?"

Jace reluctantly relaxed his fist, letting Simon wobble to his feet. He smoothed out the front of Simon's shirt, patting his chest three times. The last time produced a loud thud. "Explain yourself."

"Simon," a voice punctuated their conversation. It was Alec.

All four of them turned to face the blue-eyed boy. Alec repeated, "Simon, stop." Turning to Isabelle, he spoke. "Clary has been taken. We... we can get her back, but first we have to do a few things."

Jace tossed his hands in the air with a groan. "Oh, imagine _that_." Alec did not acknowledge him.

Having been watching her brother's face for some indication of his true meaning, Isabelle furrowed her brows as she noticed something curious about him. "Why is your face so flushed?" She raised a dubious brow.

"What?" Alec regarded her crossly. "It is not. It's hot in the Institute. I'm sensitive to high temperatures."

"Hah!" Jace grinned sardonically, "well then don't get near me."

Simon suddenly made a strangled noise. All eyes were on him. His eyes were on the spot behind Isabelle, where Sebastian had been standing when Simon had first spotted them all. Now, there was just empty air, crisp and lenient towards the wind from the small courtyard adjacent to them. As the wind licked at their faces, and terrifying realization crept through them, Alec broke the tension with a question that caused Jace to yelp and punch the stone wall.

"_Was someone else with you_?"


	10. Forgetting One's Heart

(( **Disclaimer: **Hi! Sorry it has been a while since I have updated. Schoolwork caught up with me, but today I have some spare time. Look for another chapter in a few hours! You guys know the drill. I don't own The Mortal Instruments universe or any characters indigenous to it. I do own, however, the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. If you like what you read, please please **review**! :D Reviews make me infinitely happy! I hope you enjoy the chapter! And now, Ladies and Gentlemen... ))

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio,  
than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

- Hamlet ( I, v, 166 )

It had not been difficult to slip away once Alec Lightwood had shown up. Sebastian had stepped behind Jace, shrouding himself while they all chatted, waiting until he decided to separate himself from the group. There had been a moment, back on the balcony, where Sebastian fleetingly believed that the Lightwoods might help him, yet it was increasingly clear from Jace's hostility that the deal only went one way.

Sebastian held in his bitterness as he stalked the empty stone corridors of the Institute, trying to find his way out.

Though he knew nothing about it, Sebastian was not surprised that Clary went missing. He partied no direct knowledge of her whereabouts, but he certainly had known for a few days now that she was being pursued by an unstoppable force. They were siblings, this was true, and at one time in the recent past he wished to join together with her to strengthen their family, but Sebastian had spent too much time outside of his own body to remember what it was like to be himself prior.

Seven days ago he was part demon. Seven days ago he was rife with frustration and anger and a philosophy that brought with it every evil imaginable. Seven days ago Sebastian was the world's greatest fear, perhaps even Valentine's greatest fear as well. Seven days ago Sebastian had summoned an Angel, a feat on its own, and then sliced its wing off as a token of such a bold rebellion, sending it with a note of his intentions to the Institute. Now, here he was in the very same Institute, feeling the insurmountable pangs of doubt and fear in his gut. Feelings that were still so new to his body, his heart quickened in confusion.

Feelings no demon has ever been known to have.

The change still racked him with fear. It was terrifying to relive his life, memories that harvested nightmares within him each night, as what he was now. Rather, as what he was _not_.

He shook his head, trying, as he had been doing the past seven days, to rid himself of all these thoughts. Throughout the past week only one thing glimmered amongst the monochrome of his new life, and he was determined not to lose that something. If what Jace and Isabelle said about Clary and the drawing in her sketchpad was true, then the fact that the Portal's other end returned them to the Institute meant that-perhaps-the person Sebastian sought was right here just as they were.

His heart, an organ still constantly adjusting to keep up with all these foreign emotions, growled. Sebastian's chest felt warm. His eyes stung. He suddenly wanted to stop walking and press his skin into the cool stone wall.

Instead, he strangled the impulse and kept walking, livening his pace.

* * *

Jace reeled back to the punch the wall a second time, but was stopped by Simon's lanky arms. His vampire strength contained Jace with little difficulty, much to Jace's irritation. Simon stared down the blond haired boy, refusing to let go until he saw the anger diffuse from Jace's eyes.

"He can't have gotten far. Let's split up, find him. Now." Isabelle regarded them all with a pinched expression, but her eyes were alight. Simon let go of Jace, turning to her. "Alright, I'll go with you. Alec," he turned to the dark haired boy. "Why don't you go... erm," Simon paused, suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on him, "go watch our friend." He finished hastily, grabbing Isabelle's arm and leading them down the corridor without another word to Alec.

"What is he talking about? Does this friend know where Clary is?" Jace immediately bombarded Alec. The dark haired boy smoothed his expression, and began walking towards the west part of the Institute, where the bedrooms were. Jace followed him without protest.

They turned down the hallway that housed Alec's room, as well as Simon's. Alec finally acknowledged Jace, stopping to let the blond boy cross in front of him. "Before we go in here, I need to make something clear to you. I'm not saying this because I'm alright with it, I'm saying this because you need to know."

"What is it?" Jace did not hide his annoyance.

"Do not threaten her for Clary. And please, do not try to attack her. We will get Clary back, as long as you can remain calm. Can you do that?" Alec held out his hand for Jace to shake.

Jace ignored him, pushing his chest roughly aside and kicking the door open to Alec's room.

Standing in the middle, spinning slowly to face him, was a sight that nearly severed the muscles holding him upright. Jace grabbed blindly for the doorframe, catching its support on the third attempt. A young woman stood before him, her eyes shifting color as the earth's plates jostled, the debris coming up as two shimmering pearls sat on either side of her nose. Her mouth was neither full nor thin, but rather an uneven allure that burned with the possibility of words. He wished to hear them all. Jace kept his hand on the doorframe, dizzy as everything around him dissolved, leaving the young woman unencumbered by an environment. Her hair was long and the color of soft mud, curling and weaving and falling even as she stood still.

"By the Angel," he said breathlessly.

Alec had to peer over Jace's shoulder into the room. "Jace," he whispered into the blond boy's ear. "Jace."

"Well, isn't that interesting." The young woman finally spoke. Her arms were folded across her chest, appearing to Alec like two feathers that had curled around each other accidentally, still ever so light and ever so shimmering. He stepped under Jace's arm, squeezing into the room. It was then that he noticed the daze across the other boy's face.

"What have you done to him?" He tried to sound accusing, but as he himself moved closer to the young woman he felt a similar daze overtake him.

"_I_ haven't done anything. It's _him_, and, of course, _you_." She smirked, uncrossing an arm to flick a curling strand of hair from her face.

Alec was entranced by the simple movement. He forgot his own question.

"Of course," the young woman started, moving her free hand to tug at the cut fabric where Alec had grazed his knife earlier, "your adrenaline will wake you up." She fiddled with the hanging patch, tucking it back into the sleeve after a moment. Suddenly Alec felt himself pushed against the wall with enough force, he surmised, to move a car. He grunted on impact, eyes immediately clawing for Jace in their view.

The blond haired boy was already fighting back. True to the young woman's words, the surge of adrenaline that Alec knew took over Jace, took over every Shadowhunter in battle, seemed to wake him from whatever daze had gripped him before. Alec could only see the blur of Jace's legs as he darted, chasing the zooming shadow of the young woman. She was painfully fast, far too fast for Jace to attack her, but he did not stop pursuing her as they clattered about the room, knocking over Alec's furniture. Jace shouted at the dark haired boy, "where's your stele? Give it to me! _Do something Alec_!"

At that exact moment Alec watched in horror as the young woman's dextrous frame landed just above Jace's head, and a hand lashed out and wrapped itself around Jace's neck. Time froze, and Alec could hear the crack of bone before it happened. He lunged forward, rage invading his injuries and converting the pain to adrenaline.

However, the young woman's hand only held Jace's stiffening body. She used her other hand to snatch up Alec the same. Now the two boys were dangling from her palms, and she smiled at them icily.

"Does no one here understand how an interrogation works? I am here to ask you questions. You answer them. This is not a stage for your pathetic rebellion. _This is not a fight_. A fight is fair. I do not fight with the weak. It is not in my creed. _However_," the young woman squeezed both Alec and Jace's necks, "I am not above collateral damage. No soldier is. You two should know that better than most." With that, she let both boys fall, opening her palms with a bored expression as they each collapsed to the floor with a thud.

Jace scrambled to his feet, scanning the floor for something to use as a weapon. Alec was slower to stand, but quicker to find a weapon. He was close to the edge of the bed, and just like every room in the Institute Alec's bed was a four-poster; grabbing one of the pillars with both hands, Alec ripped it from the bed frame. The top corner of the four-poster collapsed, no longer held up by anything, and the sound was enough to distract the young woman at the exact moment Alec swung at her with the pillar.


	11. Interrogation

(( **Disclaimer:**I don't own the Mortal Instruments Universe, or any characters indigenous to it. Those all belong to their creator, Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot line, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. The secrets are starting to come out, the red herrings are everywhere, and the clues are slowly piling up. This chapter was a lot of fun to write! However, I'm at a cross-roads. This story is now at 11 chapters, and I feel like I'm not sure about its future. I have so many plans, but I'm sort of in a strange funk. What do you think, readers? Do you think this story should continue? Ah, well, I guess we'll see then! And, now, I present to you... ))

"Come not between the dragon and his wrath."

- King Lear ( I, i, 220 )

The pillar in Alec's hand collided with its target, only its target had transformed into empty air. The young woman had leaped out of the way, to where Alec nor Jace could tell, but in her absence a large crack shattered the wall. The pillar crumpled in Alec's hand, falling into dejected splinters.

As Alec spun towards Jace, he felt a hand on his chest. In a single, swift motion both he and Jace were raised to their toes, a threatening glow infecting both of their chests. The young woman's hands were not touching either of them, but rather a faint layer of electricity seemed to be emanating off her skin. She was pulsing, a lambent statue controlling them as they seeped in the power radiating from her.

"We are running out of time," she spoke through gritted teeth. Just as her body glowed, her voice seemed to shine. Jace, who had been keeping his arms at his sides, suddenly tried to push the young woman's palm from his chest, but when he collided with her wrist a flare from the burning light consuming his chest singed him. He cursed, struggling as the heat spread to his shoulders. The young woman did not laugh, as Alec had grown accustomed to her doing whenever challenged. Instead, she bore both boys down with a gaze that carried the lightning from her eyes into their shivering spines. The air in the room began to pop and sizzle, like crackling embers. The explosions were in random spots, never giving warning before they snapped. It reminded Jace of severed electrical wires, bursting with dangerous potential. "We are running out of time!" As she spoke, the explosions multiplied.

"Alright!" Jace's voice could barely be heard over the whirring energy. "Alright!"

She dropped her arms, and the two boys fell.

"Glad to see you've finally come to your senses." She grinned.

"But you tell us where Clary is." Jace added.

The young woman rolled her eyes, letting herself fall back. Her body seamlessly found its way onto the edge of the partially collapsed bed. She folded one leg over the other, stifling a yawn. "I'll tell you, but it won't help you get her back. Like I said to your friend, Alec Lightwood, you are better off praying to your God that Clary Valentine is the last punishment you must pay for your crimes against the universe."

"Crimes against the _universe_?" Jace rubbed the back of his neck. "Whatever Clary did, there's no way it can be that bad. We just thwarted a massive attempt to turn one of the world's greatest task forces into soldiers of evil. The universe should be thanking us," he drawled.

This seemed to strike a discord within her. She sprung to her feet, driving herself into Jace until the two of them slammed into the wall. She clamped her hands into the front of his shirt, pushing into his throat with her forearm. A tiny laugh tickled her lips, but was quickly replaced with a look of repulsion. Alec ran towards them, but felt himself launched backwards as the young woman flashed her palm at him.

Jace was smiling, despite the pressure building on his throat. He refused to give this young woman the satisfaction of seeing the desperation in his face. In truth, he had never felt so close to death. No one, not even a Greater Demon, possessed the power this young woman wielded. He held back a fit of coughing, instead trying to speak through tiny, low gasps. "This... gimmick... is getting... old..."

The young woman slammed her forearm into his throat. Jace let out an involuntary yelp.

"Why?" She shouted, glancing over her shoulder at Alec. "Why so much violence?" She cocked her head to the side, still pinning Jace down, eyes on Alec. When no answer came, she rounded her gaze back on Jace. His face was beginning to pale. "For the record," she hissed, "you are _not_ one of the world's greatest task forces. You are a mop up crew, same as me. Our only difference is the level of spill we address. You are responsible for the bacteria that grows on the debris I clean. I am the sky where you are a blade of grass. Accept this. Cooperate with me. It is your only choice."

"Not... much... of a choice," Jace coughed out. His right arm had been fidgeting slowly towards his pocket, where a tiny dagger lay tucked. Finally feeling its cold metal hilt against his palm, Jace employed all the force in his body as he took a swing, dagger in hand, right at the young woman's face.

She let go of him, throwing her body up into the air, twisting into a back flip as the knife swiped through the air beneath her.

* * *

The air had grown colder, but there was a brewing draft that told Sebastian he was close to an opening in the building. He quickened his pace, unsure of how to channel the still foreign emotions coursing through his refreshed veins.

He heard a loud thud that seemed to come from a few hallways to the right. Sebastian remained still for a moment, listening for shouts or approaching footsteps. He was greeted with silence. And then, just as he had begun walking again, the booming sound of bodies smashing against stone filled the hallway. Sebastian was suddenly stricken with sweat, and as he wobbled to the side, crashing into the wall, he felt around for the pulse at his neck. It was thumping with thunderous vigor.

The sounds had reminded him of something that had happened but a few days ago. It was the last time he had seen the one he sought. They were attacked in the middle of the night, and she was not supposed to protect him. He had been a means to an end, that was made quite clear to Sebastian the first time they met, but that night he had been treated like the end itself. As the memories flooded to the flesh of his lids, he tried desperately to steady his breath.

Sebastian felt with utter resoluteness how loathsome it must be to be entirely human. To feel with such intensity and such focus. He was a useless pile of skin and bones with all these new changes in him.

Another thud woke him from his reverie. Slowly, his face began to catch up with the thought budding behind his storming eyes. "No, no..." he muttered, and yet he turned himself around, dabbing the sweat away from his forehead, and started walking back the way he came. On his face, tiny bits of hope seared the pale skin, perturbing the angular grit of his bones just enough to wash a new, uncharted beauty over them.

* * *

Simon and Isabelle had not gotten far before Isabelle pulled them aside into a spare room. It seemed to be some sort of a library, with watches and mini turnstiles occupying the desks and drawers littered about. Everything was open, as if it had been recently searched for something. Simon was about to ask Isabelle if she thought it was Sebastian, perhaps, that was responsible for it when she cut him off with an abrupt whisper.

"Jace is acting really weird. We need to figure out what's going on with him. Clary goes missing, Jace doesn't seem to care, and suddenly we run into Sebastian? No coincidences. Tell me what you know about Clary."

Simon rubbed his hands together, aware of how sweaty they were. "When you didn't show up this morning I walked over here, and I found Alec in his room with this... girl. This person. She said Clary was taken as payment."

"For what?" Isabelle leaned in, impatience flaring in her gaze.

"Isabelle I think we are dealing with things out of our control here. This... girl, whoever she is, she's stronger than _anything_... Look, I don't want to sound defeatist, but I think our best bet is to cooperate with her until we can get Clary back. I don't think Clary is hurt, wherever she is. I think they need her for something. I mean, why would they send someone like... like this girl to collect Clary if she wasn't important in some way?"

"You're right."

"You're going to think I'm crazy but please... wait, what?"

"You're right. That's actually pretty smart, Simon."

He blushed, caught off guard by the compliment in such a chaotic situation. "Thanks. So, what is this thing with Jace?"

"He's being sarcastic and complacent. He used to act this way when he was hurt, before he met Clary. I think," Isabelle paused, her eyes darkening. After a moment she blinked the intensity from them and regarded Simon with a blank expression. "We really should be looking for Sebastian."

"Yeah, you're right. I still can't believe... I mean, I sort of figured the next time we saw him he would be pointing an evil vicious army at us and generally destroying everything in his path as he approaches."

"Who says he isn't?" Isabelle opened the door, stepping out of the room and waiting for Simon to follow suit. "If there is one thing I have learned, it's that nothing is ever what it seems."

* * *

"This really needs to _stop_," the young woman growled as she crouched into a landing. "Why must you resist so much? Is this the disease of Angels?" She chuckled.

Jace lunged for her, but Alec caught the boy and pushed him back. "Stop! Stop it." He kept his eyes on Jace. "Let's see about these damn questions."

"Yes, let's," she smirked. Jace tossed the dagger over Alec's shoulder, grazing the side of the young woman's arm. It left a tear in her sleeve, just below the tear left by Alec's blade. She watched the limp fabric, expression curious. "You know, Clary was right about you."

"What did she say?" He slowly fished for another dagger from his pocket.

"You need a haircut." The young woman sighed, tossing her hair behind her as she walked right between Alec and Jace, leaving the two boys alone in Alec's now utterly destroyed room. Jace was the first to trail her. The three of them, now in the corridor, stood in a triangle. "My questions," the young woman tilted her head slightly.

"Ask away." Jace clenched his jaw as he spoke.

"First, I need you to tell me everything you know about Luke Garroway."

"What? Luke? What does he have to do with this?" Alec interrupted.

"Darling," the young woman put her hand on Alec's shoulder, the mocking corners of her mouth dripping with deep resonance, "remember what we learned about cooperating?"

Jace pulled another small dagger from his pocket. He had expected Alec to attack the young woman for what she had just said, and yet the dark haired boy was stunned by the brush of her hand on him. There was a mystified stillness to his eyes. She giggled, smoothing out the fabric of Alec's shirt as he continued to stare at her.

"_What is going on here_?" A voice interrupted their tension, and it was perhaps the biggest surprise to the young woman, despite shocking Jace into nearly dropping his dagger.

Sebastian was standing behind Alec, arms at his sides, eyes narrowed into threatening slits. "Get away from her before I slice you from neck to naval, Alec Lightwood."

Alec, still locked in a trance, only stepped closer to the young woman. With the speed of a loom whizzing past she grabbed Jace's dagger from his hands and slashed Alec clear across the upper shoulder. This seemed to snap him out of his reverie, for he yelped in pain and stumbled back, eyes retracting their haze. Before he had time to lift a hand to his wound, the young woman lanced into the air, flipping herself off the stone wall and taking off into a sprint down the hall.

Sebastian was quick on her heels. She seemed to be aware of him even without looking behind her. The young woman suddenly stopped, turning around to face Sebastian, who was not prepared for the abrupt halt in momentum. He nearly crashed into her, had she not stepped aside at the last second.

"Get out of here," she hissed at him. "It's not safe. You need to leave _now_."


	12. Jonathan

(( **Disclaimer:**Wow, it has been a little while since I have updated this story! I sort of ran out of my initial momentum, I guess. I'm trying to get it back now, though. I had/have so many plans for this story! Even a sequel. So you know the drill. I don't own The Mortal Instruments universe or any characters/plot lines indigenous to it. I do, however, own the plot line here, the writing itself, and any original characters I insert into The Mortal Instruments universe. This chapter was both fun and frustrating to write. I hope you guys are enjoying this story. Feedback is the best, so as if you like what you read please leave a **review** so I know what's on your mind! :D And now, ... enjoy! ))

"Would you have me  
False to my nature? Rather say I play  
The man I am."

- Coriolanus ( III, ii, 14)

Jace sprung forward to catch Alec as he staggered backwards, crumpling slightly in the blond boy's arms. "I'm fine, I'm fine," Alec said in a gruff voice, straightening his posture. He held a hand to the wound, letting the blood pool against his palm. "You'll have to do a rune on me," he spoke without looking at Jace. His eyes were ferociously fixed on a point ahead of them, almost at the end of the hall; Sebastian was on the ground, somewhere in the middle of getting up and brushing himself off, and the young woman was standing across from him, her eyes as transfixed on Sebastian as Alec's were on her. There seemed to be something defenseless and small in the way she stood. Considering the pace of their exchange since she arrived at the Institute, this meekness became instantly suspicious to Alec. He heard Jace repeating something to him, voice growing in pitch, but Alec could not tear his attention from the peculiar scene before him. He absently pushed Jace aside, breaking into a brisk stride as he approached Sebastian and the young woman. The blood had slowed considerably, but his palm was not large enough to contain the bleeding; it had spilled down his shirt, some of it dripping a trail as he moved towards them.

"What's this?" Alec stepped between the two as he spoke.

"I'm confused. What exactly are you asking, here?" Sebastian brushed off the front of his blazer, barely trying to shroud a smirk. He seemed to find Alec's intrusion entirely nonthreatening. In fact, his only concern seemed to be the young woman, as was evidenced by the few steps he took towards her, counterbalancing Alec's attempt at separating them.

"Do you two know each other?" Alec clenched his free hand into a fist. Jace had not been interested in speaking yet; he was too focused on the young woman, but for reasons much different than his dark haired friend. He silently zig-zagged down the corridor, settling comfortably against the wall just a few feet from the young woman's back. From here, he could see everyone's face but hers.

The young woman had not acknowledged any of them. Her eyes stayed on Sebastian, following even his smallest movements. Sebastian distributed his gaze between Jace and Alec as Alec's question went unanswered. Finally, the young woman punctured the silence with a surprising sentiment. "If you protect him, I will help you."

Jace and Alec both betrayed their shock with bulging eyes. "What?" They echoed each other.

"If you protect him," she spoke slowly, gaze still on Sebastian, "I will help you."

Jace laughed, pushing a few thick locks of hair from his face. "Protect him? From what? Himself?"

The young woman's stare finally broke, shifting onto Jace. When her gaze met his, an uncontrollable sensation washed over him, as though he had just been stabbed with millions of tiny, vibrating needles. His blood vessels steamed. He could feel his vision clouding with the memories of someone else. They came like broken reels of film, ranging from a crouched silhouette in the rain to a knife battle on what appeared to be the roof of a gothic church, and for a moment Jace saw the young woman and Sebastian darkened by the shade of a tree, her hand reaching out slowly to meet his. He tried to remember himself, slashing through the images intruding his mind. His hands felt nonexistent, and yet when he glanced down at them there they were, swinging lamely at his sides. "What is happening to me?", he slurred between heavy breaths. The images tossed his focus about, and yet they were cracking, spidery veins expanding from these weakening points, distorting the gothic roof and slicing a line between the young woman's extended hand and Sebastian's smiling face.

"If you protect him, I will help you." The young woman held on for another moment, and then she swept her eyes towards the ground. Jace gasped, taking in a quick breath as though he had been fighting to break his way through to it. His veins quieted, and the pounding in his head subsided. The images seemed to disappear with the quickness of a film snapping, leaving the screen blank. After a second, Jace could not recall what it was that he had seen; he only had the somberness blooming in his gut. "What was that?" He felt more cross and less hazy each passing second.

"You know nothing," the young woman spoke from under a bowed head. "Will you protect him? You are, supposedly, the most dreaded Shadowhunters by all Downworlders, which must mean you have... _some_... measure of abilities." She paused to raise her head, but her eyes remained on the floor. A smirk flickered across her shadowed face.

Sebastian, who had been quietly watching Jace react to the young woman's gaze, finally spoke up. "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. Need I remind you all that I severed the wings off an Angel." He hummed the last part, as though it were an upbeat song.

"Do _not-_" the young woman began, and yet as her eyes seemed to travel across the others' faces her words were swallowed up, perhaps because she was weary of the presence of Jace and Alec. It was unclear to Jace, who had been speculating silently. He felt Alec behind him, and remembered the wound still dribbling out of Alec's chest. He checked a fleeting glance over his shoulder to see if Alec was any paler than normal. Alec noticed the look and he matched it with a waspish one of his own. "Do you just not have your stele? I'm still waiting on that rune." He whispered harshly.

"Yes, that _is_ a pretty nasty cut." Sebastian chuckled. He evened the sides of his blazer with his slender hands, and the light in the corridor seemed to favor the angle of their movements for there was a paranormal quality to the way they handled the fabric. It became quite apparent in that instant how tall he was. As Sebastian took a step towards the young woman, losing the angle of light, Jace noticed something strange about Sebastian. He narrowed in on the silver-haired boy's eyes, and confirmed the unmistakeable glint of color in them. A murky, nebulous sort of green. Distracted by this observation, Jace did not return to comment until Alec's hand collided with his shoulder, stumbling for support. Stiffening his side to help Alec regain himself, Jace partitioned his gaze between the young woman and Sebastian as he let Alec lean on him. "You didn't answer my question. And, to be honest, I don't actually care, because there is no scenario where I will protect this primitive swamp bacteria."

"Bacteria is not primitive. It's elegant." Sebastian waggled his brows.

"Not even for Clary?" The young woman seemed to roll her words out like a thin string of chain, and Jace felt as though he was meant to wrap it around himself. He did not like the frequency with which this young woman was drawing compromise from them and not from her own agendas. It did not seem likely that she would follow through with a promise that went against her entire purpose for showing up at the Institute in the first place. She had been insistent, _violent_, about how much Clary was "never coming home", in her own words. Jace evened out his breaths. He refused to wrap himself with the possibility of her promise. "You're lying. There's probably a catch. You seemed pretty dead set on the fact that Clary couldn't be helped, earlier, and now-".

"Now I'm telling you I can help you get Clary back if you protect Jonathan. I'm glad you don't care from what. The less you know the better. But, if you agree to this, and anything happens to him, I will personally rip out Clary's heart and deliver it to you still fresh. Do you understand me?"

"Hold on a minute," Alec's pensive tone interrupted them. "Why did you just call him Jonathan?"


End file.
